Seth awoke in a terror sweat
engulfed by flames
licking at his bed.
His cries of final anguish
piercing the midnight silence.
His shaking three year old frame,
would not, could not
assimilate the coos and solace
from deluded parents -
speaking rubbish of nightmares
while the whole universe
blazed with terminal fire.
A yard or so across the room,
illumined by a night light's slender beams,
a child's Hot Wheel raceway,
decaled with crimson - yellow flames
benignly rested on a table.
May, 2008
Great poem. Well worked. Love the juxtaposition of the decalled toy with the nightmare dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This was beautifly done. I especialy liked: 'speaking rubbish of nightmares while the whole universe blazed with terminal fire.'